A GAME OF CHANCE.*

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXIV, Issue 8082, 24 September 1887, Page 3 (Supplement)

A GAME OF CHANCE.*

BY ELLA'J. CURTIS ' (" SHIRLEY SMITH I '}, Author of " Tho Favourite of Fortune/' " All for, . * Herself," "His Last Stake." &c., 4c. CHAPTER LXXII. . AN ASTOUNDING REVELATION. Sir John was not alarmed when Duncombe declared he had recognised Pottinger by his eyes; he thought he was deceived by a fancied resemblance. Besides, even if it were Pottinger, the officials at Victoria would soon interfere, and hand him over to the police if he molested Amy on her arrival. However, as soon as he got home, Sir John went to Campbell, the gardener, to ask some | questions about the man with the beard ; but he heard nothing to corroborate Duncombe's suspicion that he was Pottinger in disguise. Campbell was doggedly certain that Miller was just what he said he wasa workman. He had asked for a couple of: hours that afternoon after dinner, and if he had gone off in the train, he deserved a jobation, if not dismissal, for his pains. No ; it was certainly not true that he, Campbell, had sent him to the station for a parcel. " Parcels for the Chase wore always delivered; they were." While Sir John was still in the garden, a footman came out with a message from Miss Lambton; a lady and gentleman, who had arrived half an hour before, were still waiting to see him, and Miss Lambton hoped he would come as soon as possible. Sir John; hurried in, and his sister-in-law waylaid him in the ball.

"I do not know who they are or what they want," she said. " They told Baker you knew they were coming. The man is French, but 1 think she is English, and she has such a look of Amy. . Fair hair and dark eyes, but a more babyish face. He is very nice looking. 1 only saw them for a minute, for I had the Sumners and Mrs. Verity here until this moment." "I do not expect anyone; there must be some mistako," said Sir John. "Some friends of Amy's, I daresay. WhereU9they 1 In the drawingroom 2" He went in and found awaiting him. a remarkably handsome young Frenchman and a very pretty woman, charmingly dressed in block. "By Jove !" he said to himself, "Louise is right. She is like Amy, but smaller."

Neither of the strangers spoke. The woman looked nervously at her husband; the husband looked encouragingly at his wife. " Courage, my angel," he said at last, in French, and she immediately advanced a step or two. ''I hope you are well, Sir John," she said. "I got yo frightened when you did not come. I said to Victor, 'he will not see me,'" Sir John was extremely puzzled by this address. What did the woman mean. "I am delighted to have the pleasure of receiving you, madam," he said, "although I have not the honour of knowing you or this gentleman. I was not at hone when you came; I have been at the railway station to see my daughter-in-law off to London."

The lady gave a iittle cry of surprise, and clasped tier hands. " Victor ! Do you hear ?" she exclaimed. "Oh, speak for me. Tell him."

"Do we understand you to say that your daughter-in-law has just left by the train The Frenchman spoke in excellent English, and with very little accent. "Yes, sir. My son's widow, Mrs. John Erskine. She is my daughter-in-law. Perhaps your visit is to her ?" "No—no—no !" cried the lady, and, running to him, she caught Sir John's hands. " 1 am your daughterMnlaw—your eon's widow, and this gentleman, Monsieur de Louvain, is my second husband ! We were married at the English Church in Naples, last January, and I just came over now to see my little Jacky, and to ask you not to be angry with me for marrying Victor 1 You were very angry I know, because you never wrote. But you do not seem to understand what £ am saying ! Is not this the Chase? Are you not Sir John Erskine, and have you not got my boy ?" " I am certainly Sir John Erskine, and this is the Chase, and my grandson is in the house, but you are not my poor boy's widow."

"But I am! You must believe me? I can prove it in a hundred ways ! Ob, it is cruel of ycu to call me an imposter just becaus3 I married again ! And I let you have the boy, too ! Victor, what am Ito do? Can you make him believe?" She was beginning tc cry. " My angel ! Calm yourself," and Monsieur de Louvain took his wife's hand tenderly in his own. "It will be all right by-and-bye. Sir John, I assure you, on my honour, we are speaking the truth. This lady, when I married her, was the widow of your son, Captain John Erskine, who was killed while playing polo in India, She was formerly Miss Amy Gordon. I had the great happiness of becoming her husband the beginning of this year, and our marriage is registered in the English Church at Naples. Her little son she sent over to England to your care." While de Louvain was speaking, Sir John's face was a study ! Surprise—incredulity, which gradually gave way to an expression of blank bewilderment! Then a sudden contraction of the wide open eyes, and a deep flush of anger as a horrible suspicion that he had been cleverly tricked, and most cruelly deceived, darted through his mind 1 "But, good heavens, sir !" he broke out as soon a3 the Frenchman had finished, "if this is all true, who is the woman who came here from Sorronto, last March, with a child ? She wrote to me as Amy Krskine, the widow of my son Jaak ! And as his widow I received her—settled money on her and introduced her to the county 1 She was even presented at the Court as Mrs. John Erakine! and I—l loved her for his sake. It is not two hours since she left the house to visit a sick friend in London, with 'Mrs. John Erskine' on the labels of her boxes. If you are my daughter-in-law Amy, madam, who is she ?"

"Has she fair hair and dark eyes like mine ?" cried Madame de Louvain, in great excitement. "Is she like me, but taller and larger? Has she beautiful feet and handu, and does she like admiration 1"

You have drawn her to tho life!" exclaimed Sir John." "Who is she?" " llossitur!" and Madame de Louvain elapsed her hands together theatrically. She passed herself off for mc and took you all in ! Oh ! the cunniDg, wicked creature ! And I trusted her so completly ! Victor—do you hear?"

" But I do not understand it all now," said Sir John. "I have your letter by me in which you say you had quarrelled with Rossitur, and that she had left you ! There is not a word in it, or in any letter of yours, about your marriage." Oh, it is only pari: of the trick l" cried Madame de Louvain. " But let me try and explain to you. It was Rossitur who always wrote my letters to England after poor Jack died ; she wrote so well and so easily, and it was such hard work to me, that I let her do it. When we came to Italy, and I met my dearest Victor, and his kind mother and sister, and I began to - feel happy again, I let Rossitur continue to write my letters to you; I did not know how to say what I wished to tell you. I thought you would be angry with me for marrying again, so when I was engaged, I told Rossitur to write a very nice long letter for me ; she was to tell you that 1 did not expect you to give me any of the' money you settled upon me when I married poor dear Jack, and that you were to have the boy; and 1 asked her to explain that I was to be married quietly in Naples, and that she was to take Jacky to England, with her own child, and leave him here with you. I wanted her to leave her boy with her own people at Stillingfort, and to come back to me, but she refused; said she was tired of being in service. I was vexed with her, as I thought she was ungrateful, and j we had a little quarrel, but we were soon friends again, and I gave her a handsome present of money. I was surprised you did not write when you heard of my intended marriage; but Rossitur said she was sure you were very angry, and she advised me to take no notice. Then Victor and I were married, and when our honeymoon was over, I saw Rossitur off to England with the children (while we were away, she stayed at Sorrento), and soon after she. arrived, she wrote to me to say (I can , show you her letter) that she had left your grandson at the Chase, and that you were so angry , with me she advised me not to write any more, as my lettors would be returned. 1 took her advice, but I have been thinking a great deal about my little son lately, and Victor, who is always kind, proposed an excursion to England ; he said if yon refused to see me we could go baok again. But you knew we were coming, for I wrote to you from Paris ; you should have had the letter last night or this morning."

j "I have had no letter from yon," Sir John answered. " You as.w how surprised 1I wan to sea yon." _ " W»b it possible for the false Mrs. John 1 Erakme to get hold of the letter and keep it from yon 1" De Louvain asked. " No—no; I think not. Stay ! By jove, yon are right. She always opened the letter bag. Yes ; that is it, she got your letter— recognised yonr writing of coarse; and this sick triend of hers in town was invented to enable her to get away. But," and as he stopped, bis face grew very grave. He was thinking of alter Dnncombe. "Can you tell me if Rossitor's husband, George Pottinger, is alive or dead?" caked Madame de Loavain. "He was out of his mind."

Sir John laughed. "Things are beginning to look a little clearer," he said. " fottinger is alive, and he was lately discharged as oared from the asylum. He found me out in London I thought) him a decent, civil sort of follow, and I engaged him as my valet. But that cunning woman I took for my poor boy's widow, would not let him come ; she said he would go out of his mind again before long, and that in his mad fits he always took her for his wife. Of course I believed her, and broke my engagement with Pottinger; but he came down here to try and get some news of his wife. I got rid of him with some trouble, but my carriage with Mrs. Pottinger in it (she had been to a garden party as Mrs. John Erskine), passed him on the road, and he came rushing back to me, like a maniac as we all said, to tell me he had tracked his wife into the house. The next day (it showß what courage she has) she saw him alone. He got furiously excited, she told me, and as he had always done when his brain was affected, took her for his wife. Of course I had no suspicion, not the very slightest; although when Pottinger saw the child (he was so anxious to see his poor young master's boy that 1 had him down) he declared it was his. And good heavens !" cried. Sir John with a sudden and violent stamp of his foot. "What if he ia right after all? 1 never thought of that until this moment. Oh ! this makes the thing a million times worse. Suppose that infamous woman imposed her own child upon' me as my grandson ? It was no worse than imposing herself. Oh, sir !" he added, addressing de Lou vain, "your wife has a great deal to answer for. She trusted that woman too much."

Madame burst Into tears. "But how could I tell she was so wicked ?" she sobbed.

"Sir John, my wife is not as much to blame as you think, and when you are more calm you will be just to her," de Louvain said. "The first thing we have to do is to find this woman Rosaitur, and make her confess about the children; if she brought her boy here, she must know what has become of your grandson." " But how can I be sure that she tells the truth ?" cried Sir John. " And where are we to find her now ? You do not know ona-half the complications. I believe she and a neighbour of ours, Walter Duncombe, have planned to run away together." "Walter Duncombe 1" almost screamed Madame de Louvain. "If he saw her he recognised her. Of that lam sure." " Then he has behaved like a double-dyed scoundrel to me!" cried Sir John, who was now hoarse with passion. "How they fooled me, the pair of them. I never refused that woman anything. Nothing was too good for her, and all the time she was your maid Rossitur, George Pottinger's wife. I can .-sever hold my head up in the county again. Now I understand why she would not meet Arthur Filmer. She got a bad fainting fit, and frightened me out of my wits, when she knew he was coming to the house, and we left London at a few hours' notice ; she was supposed to be so unwell from overfatigue. But Duncombe—l can't forgive him. He must have been in tho plot all through." " Walter Duncombe was in love with her in India. It was poor dear Jack who kept him from marrying her. But, dear Sir John—

"Do not call me 'dear Sir John!'" ho interrupted, furiously. " I think I can hear her, and see her too, when you say it, for you certainly are very like one another in face !" ho added, half-spitefully. Do Lo uva iu made a deprecating gesture with his hands and shrugged his shoulders. "I was going to say," madame went on, " that I can tell at once whether the child Rossitur brought hero is ray boy or not." " But you cannot tell me where to find my grandson, if this is Mrs. Potting6r's—" The furious pull he gave to the bell handle drowned the last word.

Madame De Louvain could not be positive that the child was Geoigy Pottingerv but she was quite positive that he was not her Jacky. "He has a tiny little mark, a sort of dint it is, on the right temple, just beside the eye," she said. "I could not mistake any other child for him ; 1 should know him anywhere.'"

And they were all so much excited and perplexed that even Mies Lambton never thought of the child at the Rectory; they .even forgot for the moment that Mrs. John had given it as her opinion that it was Rossitur's boy ; and the news that reached the Chase next morning, put even his missing grandson out of Sir John's head for a time. • CHAPTER LXXIII. 1 a madman's revenge. i Poor Sir John spent p miserable night. lie was a man who detested double dealing, mystification, and chlcancery of all kinds, and ho found himself suddenly surrounded by .all three. It was not possible for him to doubt the statement of Madame De Louvain, but very grudgingly indeed did he admit that he had been grossly deceived by a clever adventuress. It was the deception that galled him so bitterly ; not only had he taken the sham Mrs. John Erskine to his heart, but he had imposed her as the widow of his son upon the society of the county, and to the end of his days he would be pitied and laughed at. With his usual hospitality, he insisted that the de Louvains should remain as his guests for a few day?. "You must stay until we try to bring you and Koaaitur face to face !" he said, trying to be jocular, but his heart was very sore, and ho could not yet look upon this new Amy, with her French husband, as bis daughter-in-law. She was by no means the same Amy who had been to Jack Erskine a somewhat imperious and unloving wife; in Victor do Louvain she had found her master, but he was a very loving one, and one whom she loved ; and she bad in many respects altered for the better since her marriage with him. Miss Lambton like her far better than the exacting lady who was already spoken of in whispers a3 " Rossitur." How familiar that name had been to all of them for years ! While de Louvain and Sir John had a long and serious conversation together after dinner, tho two ladies chatted very amiably In the drawingroom. It was a relief to Sir John to be alone with the Frenchman; he could indulge in some strong language and relief his feelings in that way. They all breakfasted together the next morning ; out of deference to English habits, Monsieur and Madame de Louvain came down at nine o'clock, and Sir John did his best to be genial and agreeable ; but, under the circumstances, it was hard work, and madame could talk of nothing but Rossitur's misdeeds. Sir John opened his Times, glanced at the summary, then politely gave the paper to de Louvain, who did not want it, and unfolded the Daily Telegraph. " Hallo 1" he said, " What is this ?" as his eyes fell on a sensational heading in big print. " Tragedy at a Railway Station ! Desperate Attempt AT MuitDKR AND Determined Suicide."

He looked through the account that followed, with a presentiment that it concerned him very nearly, and this was what he read : —" Victoria Station, Pimlico, was yesterday, soon after sis o'clock, the scene of a terrible tragedy ! Upon the arrival of the 6.5 train from .... a handsome and elegantly dressed young lady, followed by a porter with her luggage on a barrow, passed the barrier after the great crowd of passengers had already gone through. The porter was in the act of hailing a cab, and the lady waa walking leisurely towards the place at which it would draw up, when two shots were fired at her in rapid succession, by a man who is supposed to have travelled in the same train, as the ticket collector says he gave up a third-class ticket before the lady passed through the gate. After the shots were fired, the victim of this foul attempt staggered a few steps and then fell in a pool of blood 1 A rush was made to secure the assassin ; but, with the rapidity of lightning, he discharged another chamber of the revolver into his mouth, and fell dead on the spot! The young lady, whose name has not transpired, although, we believe, it is known to the police, was conveyed at once to St. Michael's Hospital, where she is unconscious, and in a moot precarious condition, part of her jaw having been completely shattered by one of the bullets."

"My God, how awful 1" cried Sir John, as the paper dropped from his hand, and he fell back in the chair, looking white and faint. Miss Lambton ran to him, " What is it ?" she cried, greatly alarmed. "Are yon ill ?" fie pulled himself together with a great effort. " Look here," he Raid. " There has been an attempt at murder, at Victoria Station, and I believe the unfortunate woman who is shot is Rossitur. Her train was dae in Victoria about six o'clock, and she is described as young and handsome." " But who has done it ?" cried Madame de Lou vain. '

" There was but one person likely to do it; her husband — the wretched madman Pot tinker! I believe now, Duncombe was right, and he has been working here in the garden, in disguise!" Then Sir John described the sudden rush of the man with the beard into the train, while it was actually in motion, and the fancied recognition of him as Pottinger by Duncombe. " And have they taken him ?" asked Mies Lambton.

"No;he is dead ! He shot himself after he fired at her. I wonder where Dancombe is. He said he would follow her to town by a train that left the Great Centre Bridge Junction half an hour after she left this station. Bat he is not likely to communicate with me if he knows from her, and of course he does, that the game is up. What an awful thing ! Bless my soul, how quickly retribution has followed her! Poor unhappy woman 1 I must go to town at once ; the police probably know her by this as Mrs. John Erskine.

"We had better accompany you," said de Louvain. "If there is any question of identification, my wife may be obliged to give evidence." " I see a fly from the station driving up," said Miss Lambton. "It is not Walter Duncombe, I suppose.". But the early visitor was a police inspector, who had come from town to see Sir John. In the injured woman's handbag (she was carrying it when she was shot) some visiting cards with "Mrs. John Erskine, The Chase, Little Centre Bridge," on them were found. Her linen was mavked with A. E. ; thure were two or three cases found upon her containing jewellery, apparently valuable. A diamond necklace and pendant were undoubtedly genuine, and in the pocket of her dress there was an empty envelope, with a French stamp effaced, and the Paris postmark, addressed to Sir John Erskine at the Chase.

She was still' alive, and she had made iiaveral efforts to speak, bat owing to the nature of the wound in her jaw, she could not make herself understood. The second shot had passed thorough the arm, breaking the bone just, above the elbow. Sir John put the inspector in possession of the facta related to him by Monsieur and Madame de Louvain, and the idea that it was Pottinger who had attacked her was confirmed by the fact that, on examination, it was found that the suicide was disguised by a large black beard. "If he is her husband, as I suppose, I can identify him," said Sir John, " and also give evidence that he was but recently discharged from a lunatic asylum." The mention of the jewel cases that were found on the woman who had so lately passed as Mrs. John Erskine, reminded Sir John that the valuable Erskine diamonds had practically been in her possession since her arrival at the Chase. He examined the safe in which they were kept, in the presence of the inspector, and found that the beautiful necklace was missing. "The other jewels were presents from mo," he said, but the diamonds are heirlooms." Then he added to himself, " I hope Duncombe did not know she had them."

Inquiry brought to light Duncombe'a arrival at Victoria, about half an hour or so after the tragedy had taken place. "I saw the gentleman myself," the inspector said, " but I did not guess he had anything to do with her, although he seemed scared, and a bit uneasy too, when he heard that a young lady had been fired at and badly wounded in the face. 1 took no notice of what he did, or where he went, for I did not know he knew her."

A strong instinct of self-preservation had kept Duncombe from betraying to the police his acquaintance with the injured woman ; he was to late to save her, and it would do no good to mix himself up in the affair. But he reproached himself bitterly for allowing her to make the journey alone, although it was very doubtful that his presence would have saved her from the mad vengeance of her husband.

Pottinger discovered from the last conversation he overheard in the garden house that he was not under a delusion when he declared that the women who called herself Mrs. John Erskine was in reality Bella Ro«situr, his wife ; and he discovered, moreover, that she knew she was about to ba found out, as the real Mrs. Erskine, now Madame de Louvain, was coming to England to introduce herself to Sir John, and to see her child, and that flight with Duncombe was the only course left to her, as she could not make up her mind to confess and take the consequences of her imposition. All this being made clear, Pottinger, without a moment's hesitation, resolved to murder her, and then to shoot himself! To the madness of his diseased brain was added the madness of jealousy, and he had cunning enough to lay his plans and carry them out to the bitter end.

And now he lay dead by his own hand, and she, well aware by whom the deed was done that bad arrested her flight with her lover, and for ever ruined the beauty of which she was so proud, waited in the sharpest agony of mind and body for what the slow passage of the days would bring, CHAPTER LXXIV. THE CONFESSION." Poor Amy de Louvain, the veritable widow of young John Erskine, when she came to England with her adored Victor, to introduce herself to the father of her first husband, and to see her child, little knew what was before her ; it was trying and disagreeable enough to find that an impoßter, in the person of the trusted Rossitur, had personated her successfully for some months ; had substituted her own son for poor Jack's boy ; had contrived also to worm her way into Sir John's confidence With a cool head and a steady hand, she played her risky game of chance aud scored several tricks, and divided the honours, so to speak every hand! And even now, to continue the metaphor, that she had been detected as a cheat, the cards had been so skilfully played that those whom she had wronged could not blame themselves for having trusted her; there was nothing in her conduct calculated to raise suspicion in minds of those who had no reason to suspect; and if Amy de Louvain had not been seized with a sudden desire to see her child, the imposture would probably not have been found out for years. Sir John and the de Louvains started early for London ; and it was only when Mrs. Murray walked over to luncheon, and was positively stunned, when she heard what bad taken place, that Miss Lambton thought of the child picked up by her friend at Victoria Station. What more likely that, in this unclaimed little waif. Amy de Louvain would recognise her son ? There was some mark, Miss Lambton could not remember what it was, by which she said she should know him. Sir John had a trying day before him in town ; his first duty was to identify the body of the man who had attempted the murder, and then shot himself and be had, as he expected, no difficulty in recognising the unfortunate Pottinger. He was then summoned to attend the inquest; the murderer and his victim being both known to him, his evidence was required. But his visit to St Michael's Hospital to identify Pottinger's victim who was lying there, to all appearance unconscious, with her face shattered and her arm broken, was the most trying and painful duty that had ever fallen to Sir John'd lot. ' He was accompanied by his daughter-in-law, and they went in together to the ward where Rossitur was lying. The heart of the kind old man was filled with the deepest compassion, as he looked at the maimed and disfigured creature whom he had bo lately seen in the pride of her beauty! He forgot how she had cheated and befooled him; he forgot that, even as she kissed him and said good-bye at the railway station, she had already made her plans for a disgraceful escape from-the consequences of her daring impersonation, leaving to him, and to others, the task of unravelling the tangle she had so cleverly made ! He forgot all that; he remembered only that the hand of her maddened husband —the man whom she had the courage to face and defy, had struck her down. "Yes," he said, and his voice was very low and full of compassion, " that is the woman who came to the Chase as Mrs. Erskine. You can identify her, I suppose, as your former maid Rossitur?" he added, turning to Madame de Louvain. "Yes," that lady answered. "She is certainly Rossi nu : ' could swear to her if

necessary. How horribly she seems "to be hart, bat really, when I think of what—"'v "Oh; pray do not apeak of it here!" interrupted Sir John, imploringly. " Her punishment is horrible too 1 I pity her from the bottom of my heart!" •The doctors said she was unoonscious ; but, as first one spoke, and then the other, her eyes slowly opened, and with an nnmis* takable glance of recognition, she turned them with an effort first to the face of her late mistress, and then to that of the man she had so basely taken in. She tried to speak, bat ooald not; and with a moan of anguish piteous to hear, her eyes closed again. The cover of the letter found in her pocket was shown to, and identified by Madame de Louvain, and some days later, the letter itself was. picked up at the Chase it had fallen under the drapery of the toilet table, in the room oocupied by the pretended Mrs. Erekine, and in the confusion of her hurried departure, she had not missed it. Of the jewelß she carried off, Sir John claimed the diamond necklace only; the ornaments he had given to her he left with her. His next task 'was to try and put an end to all the . gossip, ill-natured and serious, aboat the affair, that got into the newspapers. Not a day passed without the publication of soma paragraphs upon the "Romantic case of imposition in Stoneshire!" or the "Sad end of a clever adventuress," or "The clever swindle in Stoneshire !" One or two of the Illustrated "Penny Dreadfuls" had a sketch of the attempted murder at the railway station, and a long decriptive account, headed " The Baronet and the lady's maid!" In self-defence, Sir John at last wrote a succinct account of the whole affair from beginning to end, and sent it for publication to two or three of the leading journals ; when his letter appeared, speculative gossip ceased, but he was obliged to read mortifying comments in the society papers upon his obtuseness ; and sly hints as to the ease with which pretty women impose upon elderly men ! Then news came of fighting in Afghan, of the death of a Royal Prince, or Princess, of the sale of ar big elephant to an American showman, and the " Baronet and the lady's maid" dropped out of eight, and were for gotten by the public; bat, not for months or even years at the Chase, or at Little Centre Bridge; and the puzzle and uncertainty about the two little boys kept up the excitement.

Madame de Louvain and her husband came back to the Chase,. in order that the former; mighty see Mrs. Murray's little protege, and she was positive that the child was her son. There was the dint in the right temple plainly to be seen by everyone, except Sir John, who could not be got to sae it at all. But even setting aside that infallible clue, was not the cnild (so his mother said) the " very imags of his poor dear father', 1 " Victor said so, ai\d Victor was always right while no one could mistake the other boy for the child o:t anyone but flosßitur! Sir John was obliged to admit the likeness, but he would not recognise the waif, so strangely picked up by chanoe at the railway station, as his grandson, unless the unfortunate Kosaitur would admit that she had left her mistress' child there. So the little fellow, who was called by some Jacky, and by others Georgy, wa3 left with Mrs. Murray, and the little impostor remained at the Chase, but he was kept out of sight, and Sir John asked no questions. Victor and Madame Lou?ain went to London, and stayed there until the uncertainty was at an end, one way or another ; Sir John telegraphed to his daughter and Otway to come at once—he was yearning for Letty ; and at St Michael's, by slow degrees, Kossitur recovered; but with so sorely a maimed and disfigured face that those who had known her before Pottinger's murderous attack, had some difficulty in recognising her. Upon her discharge from the hospital, she was met by her sister Alice, and taken down to Stillingfort, and Sir John who, in his great kindness and noble generosity, refused to add one iota to the punishment she had already suffered, gave instructions that she should want for nothing money could supply. And when she learned how good and forgiving he had been to her, Roaaitur's cold calculating heart was filled with something as like remorse as it was possible for her to feel; and in a sudden burst of repentance, she resolved to confess everything to him, and, ay far as was possible, repair the wrong she had done. So he went to Scillingfcrrt, to see her at her request, and at her request also, or, mere properly speaking, at her sister's, the child she had passed otf as John Erskine's accompanied him.

"He is my son," she said, in answer to Sir John's anxious question, "and I am ready to make an affidavit, if necessary, or, if it will satisfy you, that the boy Mrs. Murray found in the waiting room at Victoria is your grandson. I left him there, thinking he . ould be sens to the workhouse, and that my son would be brought up as your heir." Poor Sir John, torn between his horror of her daring duplicity, and pity for her miserable condition, scarcely knew what reply to make. " I cannot think why you did it," he said at last. " Did you not know that some day, sooner or later, you would be fouud out?"

"I did not think it very likely, " she answered, " and I liked the excitement of such a game of chance. Of course I knew it was possible, but I thought Madame de Louvain was too indolent and too selfish, and cared too little for her child, to come to England to see him. I was afraid that some day Mr. -Filmer, or some one who had known me and my mistress in India, would recognise me, but I managed to avoid meeting Filmer, in whose service I once lived, in London, and I made up my mind not to venture there again. My husband I was able to silence, by saying he was mad; bat I ought to have been more cautious about him. If I had only suspected that he was about the place in disguise watching me, I could have got away and bafilad him ! But ho was too cunning for me, audi am left like this ! " She clasped her hands with a despairing gesture, aud then pointed to her disfigured face, while a gleam of hatred flashed from her eyes. " He is dead," said Sir John, solemnly. " Yes! " she broke out," bat it makes no difference to me now, for my life is ruined ! No one will oare for such a hideous creature 1 I may die in * ditch, or starve, it is all the same."

"Not as long as it is in my power to help you," said Sir John. " The wrong you did me was great indeed, but the wrong to yoarself was infinitely greater, and I—l should not like you to fall lower. I suppose lam right in my supposition that .Walter Duncombe knew who you were, and that you had made up your micd to leave the country with him '£ "

"Yes ; you are quite right. About a month after I arrived at the Chase, I went over to the Hermitage, to prepare him to find me in Mrs. John KrsUine ; I was sure if he would not join me in keeping up the deception, he would not betray me, but he joined me willingly enough. Miss Lambton thought I went to Great Centre Bridge to look for Rossitur !" and she laughed. " Walter wanted me to go through the form of marriage with him, as your son's widow, and then we were to live abroad, a3 long as there was any chance of our being found by Pottinger. But I did not trust Duncombe enough for that; as he helped me to cheat, he might cheat me himself some day. So I refused ; and it was not until I was driven into a corner, by hear--1 ing that my mistress was coming over, that I consented to go with him ; it did not very much matter what became of me when 1 was going to be found out." Sir John was silent, and pained beyond expression at her reckless, defiant tone. And it was of no use to preach repentance to her, in her present mood ; he saw but too plainly that she was not grieving for her conduct in the past, but simply for the loss of that beauty which was so cruelly marred for evermore. [To be continued.] Another new tale will be commenced in the New Zealand Herald the week after next. The tale is by a well-known and popular author, Mrs. George Sheldon, a writer who has afforded pleasure and amusement to our readers in the' many tales from her pen which we have published. The tale is entitled, " VIRGIE'3 INHERITANCE," and is one of the most interesting ever written by this talented lady. The week after next the opening chapters will ba pub* j lished.